


working hours

by protagonists



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ad Agency Worker Yachi Hitoka, Adulthood, Character Study, F/M, Happy birthday Yachi!, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Yachi Hitoka, Yachi Hitoka-centric, mentions of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protagonists/pseuds/protagonists
Summary: yachi hitoka is tired, but she knows the world won't stop for her.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 122





	working hours

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday fic for my queen yachi hitoka, inspired by my own experience of working 4 years in the advertising industry. This one's for you, Yachi!

At 9 AM, Yachi Hitoka clocks in for work without fail.

Like clockwork, she settles down on her desk, checks her calendar and watches the screen of her monitor glow white as the machine comes to life. All of this, she does daily without complaint. As a creature of habit, Hitoka is relieved to have her mornings be routine, a few minutes of sanity before she’s faced with an onslaught of requests from her superiors.

In her head, Hitoka is blessed to be working here. A stable income, top-of-the-line equipment, big name clients. _I could have it worse_ , she thinks.

When she meets her friends from other agencies, she only hears variations of the same horror stories. It’s always about a terrible boss, or the inhumane working hours, maybe even a spiteful comment about their clients.Hitoka reflects on her friends’ anecdotes, and her job seems peaceful in contrast.

Granted, she does experience the bad days, but the good days seem to outweigh them all.

For every sleepless night she faces, she remembers the smiles of the people who recall the tv ads she’s worked so hard on. For every tear shed in the middle of nights spent working, she reminds herself of the weight of that gold trophy, heavy in her arms and on her shoulders.

_You’re doing good, Yachi-san._

**_You must do better._ **

* * *

At 3PM, Hitoka thinks about what she’s doing.

Right now, on her screen is a woman, laughing at some imaginary text message on her phone, her eyes crinkling in delight. Hitoka wonders how many people will be fooled into thinking that a material object is capable of bringing such joy. As if life were _simply_ that easy.

After staring at her screen for hours, Hitoka tries to recall the last time she genuinely laughed like the stock photo in front of her.

Maybe last week, when she was finally able to try the delicious yet _outrageously_ expensive bento she bought as a treat for herself after all her overtime work? Or two months ago, when her batchmates from Karasuno somehow managed to be in Sendai all at the same time, even if it was just for dinner, one evening, one blip in their busy schedules.

Despite the numerous feats they each achieved since their high school days, in the izakaya they found themselves in that night, they are not superstars nor overachievers. They are Hitoka and Shouyou and Tobio and Kei and Tadashi. They are friends. They are human beings, flaws and all, and that night, they chose to celebrate this.

Hitoka reviews the image she finished composing, going over the details she might have missed. Her mother taught her to have a critical eye, to ensure no mistakes. Each mistake had its consequence, she recalls. These words are now etched in her brain, in her hands, in her heart.

_There is no room to make mistakes, Hitoka. In the real world, there are no second chances._

Upon submission of the artwork, Hitoka's skills are praised by her seniors. She hears how she’s special, an invaluable asset to the team. She knows by now that this is all lip service, trivial words said in order to keep the juniors going, to give so much — too much — despite getting almost nothing in return.

For once, Hitoka just wants to be ordinary.

* * *

At 7PM, Hitoka presents her ideas to others.

She was asked to present her storyboard, bearing an idea to promote luxury shoes she knew she could never afford with her meager salary.

_Who needed luxury shoes in this day and age? Who cares?_

But she is paid to do this, and so she does it without complaint.  
(Her social media says otherwise.)

When she received the email at 9:47 AM that same day, containing the brief and the deadline highlighted in bold, black letters, she was able to conceptualize, write and draw a concept board for yet another video ad in a span of 9 hours.

She is used to the work. It was difficult, exhausting, and if she was being honest, almost _impossible_.

Was it worth it? She tries to convince herself it is.

In an office filled with creative people, it proved difficult to stand out. She remembers her days with the Karasuno volleyball team, all strong personalities who wanted to stand out and be the best in the sport. However, they were a _team_ , first and foremost. The only way to reach the top was with the help of each other.

Her mother’s words once again start ringing in her ears.

_Hitoka, you have to be the best. In the real world, it’s either you win, or you’re done._

And so Hitoka tries. With every artwork created, with every idea suggested, with every pitch presented.

Tonight, she presents pieces of herself poured into those tiny little boxes filled with words and images to tell a story. These were stories rooted from human insights and experiences, some of which were her own. In these moments, Hitoka, who built walls of steel around her heart to prevent herself from getting hurt, decides to wear her heart on her sleeve for once. _If you’re passionate about something, good things will happen, right?_

After her presentation, she realizes her mistake.

She should never be vulnerable, not even in the slightest, as the other creatives presented their own ideas. They were all better, funnier, more relatable, more strategic. In all fairness, they had years of experience under their belts, better brand names highlighted on their resumes, worse horror stories shared during nights out. They were monsters in their own right.

Hitoka wonders if she could be a monster too.

After all the presentations, the seniors decide which ideas will make the cut. Hitoka hopes that hers will join the list.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

At 7PM, Hitoka faces disappointment once again.  
  


* * *

At 1 AM, Hitoka wants to cry.

She’s frustrated, she’s angry, she’s tired.

_She’s so, so tired._

But her energy is better left spent towards writing emails for people to wake up to the next day.

And so she does. Tonight, the tears on her face will only be witnessed by her monitor screen.

Hitoka knows that not all days are good, and she knows that not all days are bad. Unfortunately, today was a very bad day. She eyes the half empty pack of cigarettes on her desk, a secret habit she hides from her friends. Once upon a time, 15-year-old Yacchan would never have considered indulging in such a filthy habit. 23-year-old Hitoka, however, needed to take a breather once in a while.

 _Fuck it._ She thinks. _I deserve to breathe._

In the smoking area, Hitoka scrolls mindlessly through her social media, trying to get a glimpse of her friends who have achieved the art of work-life balance.

She goes to her own profile, a mixture of happy smiles and heavy eyebags. For all the glitz and glamour the advertising industry seems to offer, she knows how beauty is truly a facade. Behind the beautiful faces on tv screens and billboards are the tired faces who pulled off miracles just to make these commercial displays a reality.

Hitoka wonders again; _Is this really worth it?_ She knows the question in her head will never disappear. Not until she finds the answer herself.

She disposes of her cigarette in the ash bin, noticing the numerous sticks littering the insides of the container. She wonders how many people have faced the same dilemma as her.

But her brain, swirling with ideas and visuals, thinks of a diamond, formed under immense amounts of pressure.

A diamond. Brilliant. Priceless. Worthy.

_Maybe if she just believes in herself, she could be a diamond too. No matter how long it takes._

Hitoka decides to head back to her office, but checks her phone first. She sees Shoyou’s name in her recent contacts, a back and forth of late night texts telling the other of their plans for the night before they go home to their shared apartment.

 _“I’m working late.”_ she says. “ _Doing some extra training with the team.”_ he replies.

They understand the difference of the worlds they’ve chosen, but somehow, they manage to make it work.

Hitoka’s thumb hovers over the icon on her phone, deciding if she should give him a call. _I miss you. I want a hug. I need you to tell me that I’ll be okay._ In the end, she decides against it. She can manage. She’s gone for so long without him. _What’s one more night?_

And so, she moves forward, towards the office, towards her desk, towards the never-ending work ahead of her.

As Hitoka reaches the floor of her office, she sees bright orange hair and a brilliant white smile waiting for her in the lobby.

“Shouyo?” Hitoka asks in disbelief. She briefly wonders if this is a midnight illusion. Was she asleep?

“Hitoka!” Shouyo steps forward to meet her, coffee in one hand, and takeaway food in the other. “I hope you’re hungry! I’ve got food for you.”

“What are you doing here?”  
  
“You’ve been working too hard. C’mon, here’s coffee, _karaage_ and your favorite!” Shouyo pulls out sticks of _fugashi_ from his pocket. “I wanted to brighten up your day!”

Hitoka wants to cry. Instead, she pulls the man into her arms for a hug. Shouyo responds by wrapping his arms around her, hoping his simple acts of love will get her through another hard night.

“I’m sorry I smell like cigarettes.” Hitoka murmurs in his jacket. “It’s been a bad day.”  
  
“I know. It’s okay. That’s why I’m here.” Shouyo whispers back, planting a soft kiss on her hair. “Drink your coffee so you can finish your work. I’ll wait for you.”

Hitoka nods as she takes the care package from Shouyo back to her desk.

 _Thank you_. She whispers. _I love you._

 _I love you, too._ He whispers back. _I’ll be here if you need me._  
  


At 1 AM, again, she settles down on her desk, checks her calendar and watches the screen of her monitor glow white as the machine comes to life.

Hitoka is tired, but she knows the world won't stop for her.

She never leaves the office with the sun still up, but somehow, some way, sunshine still manages to reach her in the middle of the night.

And so, she keeps on going.

**Author's Note:**

> Many special thanks to the following people:
> 
> [Ham aka ao3: mysticTwirl ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticTwirl/pseuds/mysticTwirl), for the beta work and conversations about the pains of adulthood.
> 
> [Meg aka ao3: stormhund ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormhund/pseuds/stormhund), for your continuous handholding and our emotional parkour in our DMs, especially during soft hours HAHAHA
> 
> [Akane aka ao3: akanemnida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akanemnida/pseuds/akanemnida), for showing me the beauty of Yachi Hitoka, and how she deserves to have it all.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this quick labor of love for the birthday girl. 
> 
> Talk to me on twitter [@bokkuatsu](https://twitter.com/bokkuatsu)! Thanks for reading :)


End file.
